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     From gifts well used and duty done
New beauty for thy sake.

The fair ideals that outran
     My halting footsteps seek and find—
The flawless symmetry of man,
     The poise of heart and mind.

Stand firmly where I felt the sway
     Of every wing that fancy flew,
See clearly where I groped my way,
     Nor real from seeming knew.

And wisely choose, and bravely hold
     Thy faith unswerved by cross or crown,
Like the stout Huguenot of old
     Whose name to thee comes down.

As Marot's songs made glad the heart
     Of that lone exile, haply mine
May in life's heavy hours impart
     Some strength and hope to thine.

Yet when did Age transfer to Youth
     The hard-gained lessons of its day?
Each lip must learn the taste of truth,
     Each foot must feel its way.

We cannot hold the hands of choice
     That touch or shun life's fateful keys;
The whisper of the inward voice
     Is more than homilies.

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